


Sorcerer's Pupil

by Ytteb



Series: Sorcerer [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: Tim McGee enters the basement as Master Jethro's somewhat reluctant pupil - this is a follow up to Sorcerer's Apprentice but I don't think it will matter if you haven't read the first story.





	1. Chapter 1

Master Jethro Gibbs, we seek admission to your halls,” said Seer Morrow formally.

“You are welcome,” came the equally formal reply, “And peace be on your sojourn.”

Seer Thomas Morrow gazed around Gibbs’ _halls_ which actually consisted of a dimly lit basement area dominated by a large worktable and with a number of doors leading off.

“Jethro,” said Morrow, “This is Captain John McGee.”

Gibbs nodded to the captain who nodded back coolly. Morrow sighed; it seemed that neither of his companions was going to be _talkative_.

“You remember I told you about his son’s _situation_.”

Gibbs nodded again, this time in a manner that suggested _duh, of course I do._

Captain McGee might not be talkative, but he was decisive and, on this occasion, decided to get straight to the point, “Mr Morrow says you might be able to help.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at this. It was unusual for someone not to give the Seer his honorific; somehow, he didn’t think it boded well for their encounter. “Maybe,” he said.

“Why don’t we sit down?” suggested Morrow. He was about to add words like _get comfortable_ but refrained as they seemed completely inappropriate and unlikely to be fulfilled. “Captain McGee, why don’t you explain the position to _Master_ Gibbs,” Morrow placed a slight emphasis on the word Master.

“My son – Timothy – had an _accident_ a couple months ago.”

“Yeah?”

“His mother and I bought him a car for his 16th birthday … and, of course, he took it out for a spin right away …”

“And?” prompted Gibbs.

“And … he says he was trying to work out to how make the windshield wipers work … don’t know why, it wasn’t raining. Anyway, something went wrong and he managed to smash into a bus.”

“OK,” said Gibbs, “And that brings you here – why?”

“I’ve been told,” said the captain stiffly, “That it happened because my son … because my son did some sort of magic.”

“Is that what _he_ told you?”

“Tim says he doesn’t remember much more than trying to work out the wipers and then looking up and seeing a bus …”

“Then why do you think it was magic?” asked Gibbs sceptically, “Sounds like a kid getting confused to me.”

Morrow coughed, “Marcus was there.”

“Ah,” said Gibbs. Master Marcus Gilroy was a client of Gibbs. He was an elderly man with a terrible sense of direction, a penchant for mischief and one of the sharpest minds Gibbs had ever encountered.

“Yes, he says he sensed something out of control … and before he could work it out, he heard a huge smash and he looked up to see Tim McGee’s car colliding with a bus,” said Morrow.

“It seems extraordinary to me,” said McGee a little peevishly, “Nothing like this has ever happened in my family before.”

“And you want me to do, what?” asked Gibbs.

“I want you to fix him.”

“_Fix_?” asked Gibbs coolly.

Morrow decided it was time to intervene, “I’ve explained to Captain McGee that if his son does have magic then the best thing is for him to learn to control it. And I told him that I don’t know anyone more qualified to do that.”

Jethro raised a sceptical eyebrow at this unexpected praise but realised that the captain was probably only interested _in the best_.

“And you’ll be able to tell if he has this magic in him?” prodded McGee.

“I’ll know,” replied Gibbs laconically.

McGee gazed at him for a few seconds and then, apparently satisfied by what he saw, deflated slightly, “OK, I trust Mr Morrow’s judgement. How long will it take?”

“Excuse me?”

“How long will you need to have Tim with you.”

“100 days should be enough.” Gibbs watched to see if this lengthy parting from his son was going to cause a problem.

“Captain McGee and his wife are due to be posted to Okinawa, Japan. It was already planned that Timothy would stay behind for school so that suits fine,” said Morrow.

“He won’t be doing schoolwork,” said Gibbs brusquely.

Captain McGee gave an unexpected laugh, “Yeah, good luck with that! My son loves his books.” There was an odd mixture of pride and despair as he talked about his son.

“When do you want to bring him?” asked Gibbs.

“His mother and I are flying out on Tuesday. Monday?”

“Fine.” Gibbs gave the impression of being bored with the discussion and wanting it to be over.

McGee got up to go but turned back as he reached the stairs, “I love my son, Master Gibbs. I just don’t … understand him most of the time.”

Gibbs nodded and the captain nodded back in farewell.

“How do you know this guy, Tom?” asked Gibbs when he was alone with the Seer.

“From my Navy days. He’s a highflyer, dedicated and focussed. I get the impression that family life takes second place to career.”

“And the boy?”

“Difficult to know. He’s very bright and has been seen as a math genius …”

“I sense a but.”

“Since the car _incident_ it’s made his family wonder if the brilliance was actually him using magic unknowingly.”

“He could be a math genius _and_ magical,” said Gibbs in an offended tone which suggested he disapproved of the idea that magical people couldn’t be intelligent.

Seer Morrow lifted his hands in mock surrender, “Hey, I know. You’re preaching to the choir here. But you’ve seen him, he doesn’t approve of magic so he’s going to think the worst.”

“And you’re sure the boy does have magic?”

“I trust Marcus.”

“Huh, I guess. But it might be a …”

“Coincidence?” said Morrow with a twinkle in his eye, “Thought you had a rule against those, Jethro!”

Gibbs grinned reluctantly, “I guess.”

“Whatever happens, I think Tim will benefit from being with you, Jethro. Are you still up for this?”

“Said so, didn’t I?”

“So you did. And it’s been a while … maybe it’s time to have another …”

“He won’t be an apprentice,” snapped Gibbs.”

“All right, I’ll see you on Monday … but this might be good for you, Jethro – as well as good for the boy.”

“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs in a tone designed to send Tom on his way.

“And a blessing on your endeavours,” replied Morrow.

XXXXXX

Early on Monday, the Seer arrived with Captain McGee and an anxious looking tall thin boy. Morrow observed the formalities,

“Master Jethro Gibbs, we seek admission to your halls.”

“You are welcome,” came the equally formal reply, “And peace be on your sojourn.”

“Master Gibbs, you remember Captain McGee – and this is his son Timothy.”

“Say hello,” said McGee to his son who seemed almost paralysed with nerves.

“Uh, hello. It’s …” the boy trailed off. He had thought about saying _nice to meet you,_ but he was innately honest and wasn’t sure it would be true.

Gibbs nodded.

An awkward silence fell which Morrow, ever busy and anxious to keep things moving, broke, “Timothy, you understand that you’ll be staying with Master Jethro for 100 days …”

“So he can get rid of my magic,” said Tim.

Morrow frowned at the way the stay seemed to have been put to the lad, “Not exactly. _If _you have magic …”

“I don’t,” insisted Tim.

“Can’t both be true,” said Gibbs.

“W-what?”

“Well, you said I’d get rid of your magic _and_ that you don’t have it in the first place. Which is it?”

“I-I don’t think I have magic. But _if_ I do, then you’ll help with that.”

Gibbs gazed thoughtfully at the boy and seemed to decide he was happy enough with that response.

“Then let’s get to the agreement,” said Morrow briskly. He nodded to Gibbs who summoned a piece of paper. “Master Gibbs agrees to take Timothy as a pupil for 100 days. You both agree to that and Timothy agrees to abide by his rules. You all need to sign.”

Captain McGee hesitated and spoke to his son, “This is the best thing for you boy, you understand that, don’t you?” Tim looked at him with wide eyes, he wasn’t used to being given options. He nodded anxiously. “OK then,” said McGee and he signed his name.

Tim followed suit before Gibbs signed too.

“As my witness to the agreement, I will sign and we will also clasp hands over the paper,” said Morrow.

Captain McGee looked a little askance at this but did what he was told. Tim’s eyes widened even further as a beam of light enveloped the joined hands and illuminated the paper.

“Timothy, you are Master Gibbs’ pupil now. I bid you to be obedient to him,” said Morrow formally. And then, less formally, he added, “It will be fine. Now, why don’t you and your father go upstairs and say goodbye?”

“That won’t be necessary,” said McGee briskly, “We … er … said our goodbyes this morning at the house. And Tim’s leg will hurt him if he climbs those stairs again. Goodbye, Son,” he drew Tim into an awkward hug which Tim returned equally awkwardly.

“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs.

The captain had done some homework since his last visit and made the expected reply,

“And a blessing on your endeavours. And thank you, Master Gibbs.” He patted Tim on the shoulder and left.

“I must go too,” said Morrow. He also patted Tim on the shoulder and then he left.

“I’ll show where you’ll be sleeping,” said Gibbs.

“T-thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t call me Sir.”

“S-Sir?”

“I said don’t call me Sir. You can call me Master Jethro.”

“Y-yes S-Sir … I mean, yes, Master Jethro.”

“Follow me.”

Tim moved in the direction of the stairs assuming the bedrooms were in the house above, but Gibbs led him towards one of the doors leading off the work area.

“You’ll sleep here,” announced Gibbs.

Tim saw a simple room furnished with a bed, a set of drawers and a desk.

“There’s a bathroom through there,” Gibbs nodded towards another door. “Unpack and come through when you’re ready.” Gibbs rethought his words. Somehow, he suspected that Tim would never be ready enough to re-join him. “Or in fifteen minutes. Whichever is sooner.”

Tim nodded anxiously but didn’t say anything. As Gibbs turned to go, a large grey cat came through the door.

“You’ve got a cat!”

“More than one,” said Gibbs a little gloomily. “Is that a problem?” he asked as he saw an increase in Tim’s already high level of anxiety.

“I’m allergic.”

Gibbs waved a hand, “Not to these cats, you’re not,” he said confidently. Somehow, Tim found himself believing him.

XXXXXX

Tim emerged from his bedroom 14 minutes and 40 seconds later and stood uncertainly by the worktable. He reached out a tentative hand to stroke Jasper but something in the cat’s cool gaze made him withdraw it.

“Um, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“You watch.”

“Er … w-watch what, Sir … M-master Jethro?”

“The people who come. You help them sit down …”

“Excuse me?”

“Some of them will need help to sit down. You help them.”

“How will I know?” asked Tim anxiously, “I mean, t-they might be offended if I offer to help them and they don’t think they need it. Even if they do need it, help, I mean. Master Jethro.”

“You’ll know.”

“I will?”

“Yes. And most of them won’t mind being helped. They’ll like it.”

“They will?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. What else do I do? Apart from helping people to their seats? Master Jethro,” he added.

“You’ll listen to what they say. And what I say. And then you’ll do what I tell you.”

“Um …”

“What?”

“What will you tell me to do? Master Jethro.”

Gibbs sighed, “I don’t know. It depends on what people want. But I’ll probably ask you to bring me a book.”

“A book?” Tim’s face brightened at the thought.

Gibbs waved a hand towards a wall filled with bookshelves. “I’ll tell you which one I want.”

“OK. Um, do I get to read the books?”

“You want to? They’re books about magic. Didn’t think you were interested.”

“Well, have you got any books about computers?”

“Nope.”

“Science?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll read the books about magic,” said the logical Tim, “I like books.” He looked quickly in the direction of the books.

“What?” asked Gibbs.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did you look at the books? Did you hear something?”

“N-o-o,” said Tim unconvincingly.

“Huh. Look lively, someone’s coming,” said Gibbs.

Tim looked anxiously at the door as he wondered if he’d know whether or not to help the new arrival to their seat.

“Master Jethro, I seek admission to your halls.”

“You are welcome. And peace be on your sojourn, Patty.”

Tim hurried to pull a chair out for Patty who was large and breathless and, to Tim’s eyes, incredibly ancient.

“Thank you, young man,” said Patty, “See you’ve got a new helper, Jethro.”

“Hah! Don’t know how much help he’s going go to be,” said Gibbs morosely.

“It’s nice to see someone else down here,” said Patty, “You’ve been on your own too long, you know.”

“Huh.” Tim could see this was not a subject up for discussion, “What can I do for you, Patty? You off on your travels again?”

“I would be, but I’ve lost my …” Patty trailed off.

“Your passport?” suggested Tim helpfully.

Patty looked at him blankly, “No, not my passport …”

Tim wondered if the right answer was that she’d lost her mind but somehow suspected this would not be an acceptable suggestion. “Broomstick?” he offered.

“Broomstick?” said Gibbs coldly.

“Well, you know …”

“No, I don’t know,” said Gibbs in the same tone of voice.

“Well, I thought … you know … that that’s what you … people use to get around on.”

“_You people_?” repeated Gibbs.

Tim thought he was probably in a lot of trouble but was diverted by Patty dissolving in gales of laughter, “Oh, Jethro! Can you imagine what I’d look like on a broomstick! As if you could find one strong enough to take me!”

Gibbs’ lips twitched reluctantly as he tried to picture the amply proportioned Patty trying to balance on a broomstick, “So what is it you’ve lost, Patty? And Tim, we don’t need any more suggestions from you …”

“I’ve lost my mirror.”

Tim longed to answer why a mirror was vital to travel plans but knew he had to be quiet until invited to speak. Gibbs wasn’t at all puzzled about the loss of the mirror, “Pupil Timothy, bring me the yellow book. The one on the bottom shelf.”

Tim nodded humbly and went to get the book, “It’s stuck,” he said after a few moments trying to tug it off the shelf. Gibbs frowned and the book fell into Tim’s hand.

“Oh,” said Tim.

Gibbs looked at the boy closely, but he just gazed back. “Find the Locator Lyric,” he ordered.

Tim looked at the book, “Is it in alphabetical order?”

“Look.”

It took a while, but Tim found the lyric by dint of turning every page. He handed the book to Gibbs who glanced at it, waved his hand and produced a hairpin, “It’ll make a noise when it’s near what you’ve lost,” he said as he handed it to Patty.

“Thank you, Jethro. You’re a lifesaver. You know I can’t go anywhere without the mirror.”

Tim looked at Patty’s untidy hair, crumpled dress and sack like purse and decided that a mirror would indeed be a useful thing for Gibbs’ friend.

“Here,” she said, delving into the purse and bringing out a pumpkin, a string of sausages and a carton of milk. She hesitated, “What’s your name, boy?”

“Timothy … er … Tim, ma’am.”

Gibbs coughed, “Address Patty as _Mistress_ Patty.”

“Sorry, Sir … I mean, Master Jethro. I’m Tim, Mistress Patty.”

Patty smiled and looked into Tim’s eyes, “Hmm,” she said, “Interesting. Here, give this to your master.” She handed Tim a bag, “Donuts,” she said with a twinkle, “Some with sprinkles and some without.”

She heaved herself to her feet and got ready to leave.

“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs.

“And a blessing on your endeavours,” replied Patty, “And Tim, good luck. And don’t apologise so much.”

“Well?” asked Gibbs after she had gone.

“Sir? I mean, Master?”

“Any questions? What do you want to know?”

“What did you give her?”

“A hairpin.”

“I know. Just a hairpin?”

“It’ll help her find her mirror. It’s a locator pin.”

“Oh. And why did she give you food?”

“You’ll find out.”

“Oh.” Tim remembered the book and thought he might be able to sneak a look at the spell but when he looked at the table, he saw that the book had gone. “Where’d it go?”

Gibbs shrugged, “I guess it got bored.”

“Bored?”

“Went back to its place.”

“On its own?”

“Sure. The food goes in the store. Through there,” Gibbs pointed to another door.

There was a steady flow of visitors for the rest of the day. Tim put out chairs for them, told them his name, fetched the books for Gibbs and then put away the food offered in payment. He wondered what his master would do with a sack of potatoes, a pot of blackberry preserves, two watermelons, a dozen bread rolls, six tins of baked beans and a dozen eggs.

“Last job of the day,” announced Gibbs when he had dismissed the latest caller, “Clean the table.”

Tim looked around for a cloth and suppressed a feeling of irritation that his _pupillage_ seemed to consist of fetching and carrying.

“Not like that. We have to clear it of spilled magic. Bring me the green book.”

Tim went and fetched the required book.

“Find the Immediate Inventory Illumination,” Gibbs watched as Tim thumbed through the book until he found the right page. “Read it. To yourself.” He waited until Tim looked up again, “OK, now do it.”

“Do what?”

“Perform the spell. Get rid of the magic.”

Tim looked at him with terrified eyes, “Me? Do magic?”

Gibbs suppressed a pang at a memory of another boy who had vibrated with excitement at the thought of doing magic, “You heard me,” he said firmly.

“But I can’t,” protested Tim.

“Maybe not,” shrugged Gibbs, “One way to find out.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Master Jethro, no.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I won’t do it. I mean I can’t do it anyway but I’m not going to try.”

Gibbs looked at the panicked expression in his pupil’s eyes and decided, on this occasion, not to push it, “OK. For now. You can watch instead.”

Tim nodded in relief and watched as Gibbs performed the spell although, as the table looked the same as before, he couldn’t tell if anything had worked.

“We’ll eat now,” announced Gibbs as he watched the green book float gently back to its place.

Tim felt slightly sick after the excitement of the day, but he sat down eagerly enough, “What are we having?”

“Wait and see.”

A few minutes later an assortment of dishes bobbed through from the kitchen. Tim peered at a stoneware baking dish, “What’s that?”

“Toad in the hole.”

Tim recoiled in horror, “Toad?”

“Sure,” said Gibbs with a straight face, “We eat what we’re given here.”

Tim looked again, “You didn’t get given eye of newt as well, did you?”

“What?”

“You know. In _Macbeth_, the witches have a pot with toe of frog and eye of newt … and other disgusting stuff.”

“Macbeth?”

“Shakespeare play.”

“I know what it is,” said Gibbs a little huffily, “And no, it doesn’t have eye of newt in it.” He frowned at Tim, wondering what sort of research into magical people he had done for coming to the basement if he thought of them in terms of witches on blasted heaths flying on broomsticks. “And it’s not toad, it’s sausage.”

“Then why’s it called toad in the hole?”

Gibbs shrugged again, “Who knows? It’s sausages in a batter pudding. To – someone I know, went to England and brought the recipe back.”

“Oh,” said Tim uncertainly.

“Help yourself,” said Gibbs, “It won’t bite you.”

Tim helped himself to a small portion and looked at the other dishes. He saw a pot of baked beans and a bowl of mashed potatoes and he realised that Gibbs meant what he said about eating what he was given. The toad in the hole turned out to be delicious and Tim was somehow not surprised to discover that dessert was watermelon served with blackberry preserves.

“You can take a book to your bedroom,” said Gibbs with the air of someone conferring a favour.

“No thank you,” said Tim politely. He looked quickly at the bookshelves as if he had heard something.

“Thought you liked books,” said Gibbs mildly.

“Not tonight.”

“What you going to do then?”

“I’ll practise my mental gymnastics.”

“Your what?”

“Mental gymnastics. It’s doing mental arithmetic. And I’m developing my own binary language … and learning the periodic table.”

Gibbs was rarely surprised, but he found himself baffled by the first hint of excitement he had seen in his new pupil’s face since he arrived. “Off you go then,” he said in what he felt was a weak voice.

Tim fell asleep in the midst of writing, “I am a sorcerer’s pupil living in a basement with Master Jethro,” in binary. For some reason, he found that combination of words to be difficult to render into binary.

XXXXXX

Tim had wondered what time he was supposed to get up in the morning but, in the event, he found that the light in his room gradually intensified and woke him up. Somehow, he thought that lying in bed was not an option, so he got up and got ready.

“Morning,” said Gibbs from his seat at the worktable.

“Good morning, Master Jethro,” said Tim as he joined him. Jasper gave him an appraising gaze from his place at the end of the table before starting to clean himself. Tim was just beginning to wonder if Gibbs believed in breakfast when he became aware of a change in atmosphere. The books on the shelves began to jiggle up and down, Jasper stopped his ablutions and looked towards the stairs and a small, but fat, black and white cat emerged from Master Jethro’s room. Jethro himself looked mildly interested.

The door opened and Tim found himself ducking as the books swooped off the shelves and thronged around a tall young man who stood by the door with a grin on his face.

“Hey! Careful!” he cried as the books circled him. Jasper deigned to rise and walk towards the man who gave him a respectful stroke. He then swooped on the other cat and picked her up, “You’re a fatty catty,” he crooned as she draped herself around his neck, purring all the while.

“You’re late,” said Gibbs.

“Not very.”

“Still late. You can make breakfast.”

“Happy to, Master. And who’s this?” he asked, pointing at Tim.

“My new pupil.”

“Pupil! You have a pupil? Since when?” There was something odd in the new arrival’s voice, suggesting he wasn’t entirely pleased.

“Since yesterday. You’d have known if you’d been here. Pupil Timothy McGee, this is Tony DiNozzo. Tony, this is Tim.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“Pupil Timothy McGee, this is Tony DiNozzo. Tony, this is Tim.”_

“Huh. Pleased to meet you, _Pupil_ Tim,” said Tony as he extended his hand.

“Sir,” replied Tim.

“_Sir_!” said Tony in horror, “Hey, I’m not old enough to be a _Sir_. Just call me Tony.”

“All right, Tony,” said Tim.

“Someone said something about breakfast,” intervened Gibbs.

“On it, Master. What do we have?”

“Patty was here yesterday.”

“You mean I missed Peaseblossom Patty?” whined Tony.

“Peaseblossom?” asked Tim.

“That’s her real name,” explained Tony, “But she doesn’t think it _fits_ her physique,” Tony winked knowingly.

“Man could die of hunger around here,” groused Gibbs.

“Did she bring sausages?” asked Tony hopefully.

“Yep. But we had toad in the hole.”

“You had toad in the hole? Without me?” It turned out that Tony had a good range of whiney voices.

“If you’re not here, you don’t eat,” said Gibbs. He seemed to see something in Tony’s face because he relented, “But I didn’t use all of the sausages.”

“Great!” said Tony with a return to happiness, “How do you like your eggs, _Pupil_ Tim?”

“Excuse me?”

“Fried or scrambled.”

“Um, fried, please.”

“OK, you sure? I mean, you don’t think they look like eyes looking at you?”

“No.”

“No, you’re not sure or no, you don’t want fried eggs?”

“No, I don’t think they look like eyes.”

“So, you want them fried?”

“Tony!” said Gibbs in exasperation, “I’m hungry here!”

“Right, Master. But it’s important. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Got to get it right.”

“Would be good just to get something to eat,” sniped Gibbs.

“On it. So, fried bread or toast?”

“What’s fried bread?” asked Tim.

“It’s bread that’s been fried,” snapped Gibbs, “Give him a piece of each, Tony.”

“Or I could do some pancakes,” said Tony thoughtfully. He caught a glimpse of Gibbs’ face, “No, perhaps not. Tomatoes? Beans?”

Tim nodded helplessly. Tony nodded and left the room. Tim swallowed anxiously and risked a glance at Gibbs and was surprised to see a fond look on his face. The long-awaited breakfast soon arrived and turned out to be perfect. “Huh,” said Tony, “Forgot to ask you. Do you like your eggs sunny-side-up or over easy?”

Tim swallowed a mouthful, “Sunny-side-up.”

“Huh. And you’re sure they don’t look like eyes? Peering up at you, begging you not to eat them?”

“They’re fine,” said Tim.

“If you say so,” said Tony with an air of discontent. He turned his attention to his breakfast and demolished it astonishingly quickly. Tim watched him with fascination and then realised that Gibbs had eaten his food equally quickly. Tim returned to his own food, deciding that his mother would never know that he wasn’t chewing every mouthful fifty times.

“So, kid,” said Tony, “What type of magic are you interested in?”

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not really interested in magic.”

“You’re not interested in magic?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing here? Master, you did say the kid’s your _pupil, _didn’t you?”

“None of your business, Tony,” said Gibbs not unkindly.

“Oh. Oh, OK.”

The look on Tony’s face suggested he might return to the subject later so Tim decided to try and divert him, “Do you do magic?”

“Master Jethro would tell you that you don’t really _do_ magic.”

“What do you do then?”

“You control the magic that’s in you.”

“Oh.”

“And Master Jethro is the best person to help you do that.”

“He is?”

“He is.”

Oddly, Tim felt reassured by Tony’s words and by the thought that Master Gibbs wouldn’t try and make him more magical than he already was. Not, of course, he reminded himself, that he had any magic anyway.

Tony wiped his mouth with a napkin that flew into his hand; he removed the cat from his neck and placed her gently on the table, “Look after yourself, fat-cat Nora,” he murmured, “Books, back to your places. I’ll see you soon,” the books reluctantly floated back to the bookshelves. “Thanks for breakfast, Master Jethro. Good luck, kid. Think about eggs, I’m sure it will improve your breakfast experience.” He gave a cheeky grin and ran up the stairs.

“Who was that?” asked Tim.

“I told you, Tony DiNozzo.”

“Does he live here?”

“Nope. He lives upstairs.”

Tim tried to decide what he thought of Tony. Part of him liked the person who had provided such a great breakfast – even if the process had been overly prolonged. The other part, however, couldn’t help but be reminded of the older boys at his school – the footballers who looked down on the younger boys and especially those, like Tim, who preferred math club to football practice.

“Hey,” said Gibbs as he saw that Tim had fallen into a reverie, “We got work to do. Get ready.”

Tim looked anxious again as he wondered what _getting ready_ meant, “What do you want me to do, Master Jethro?”

Gibbs decided it was progress that Tim automatically called him _Master Jethro_ rather than adding it as an afterthought, “Clear the table,” he said gently, “No,” he added as he saw Tim beginning to panic, “Not of magic. Just the plates and breakfast stuff. Then come back. We’ve got a visitor coming.”

XXXXXX

The days that followed began to fall into a recognisable pattern for Tim: he would watch and listen as Gibbs dealt with the visitors, collect the books as required, put the food and other gifts away and, at the end of the day, refuse to cast the magic as his master requested. Gibbs didn’t push him but just gazed at him as he tried to resist going into panic mode.

Tim’s mental gymnastics went well; he learned 80% of the periodic table and was trying to work out how to write _Tony is like the jocks at school but sometimes he’s OK_ in binary.

Tony’s visits to the basement were, to Tim’s eyes, unpredictable: he was rarely there for evening meals but more often for breakfasts. Sometimes he looked tired and others he looked elated. Occasionally, Tim heard him talking with Gibbs long into the night and this was something else which puzzled Tim – how did anyone manage to have a long conversation with Gibbs?

“How’s it going?” Tony asked Tim one morning as they sat over breakfast. Gibbs was writing a letter in his room and had left the other two alone.

“It’s fine,” said Tim a little defensively.

“Least you haven’t dyed your hair blue yet,” mused Tony.

“Excuse me?”

“I turned my hair blue when I was starting out. Of course, I blame Master Jethro. You know, I was clearing the table and I swear that he left some sort of spell there that would react if I didn’t cast it properly. Still, you must be doing better than me, you don’t seem to have had any mishaps.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Anything wrong, you mean.”

“No. I don’t do any magic.”

“What?”

“I don’t do any magic.”

“You should ask Master Jethro. He might be waiting for you to ask before letting you do it.”

“He wants me to do it. It’s me who doesn’t.”

“Then why are you here? If you don’t want to learn about magic?”

“There’s no magic in my family. I don’t have magic. So I don’t want to learn about it.”

“Then I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”

“So that people will believe me when I tell them I don’t have magic.”

“Why do they think you have?”

“I had an accident in my car …”

“Huh … so that’s why you’ve got a limp?”

“Yes.”

“And why you don’t go out of the basement? ‘cos of your leg.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wondered why you’re always indoors, but I figure it’s because you’re still getting over the accident.”

“I am still getting over the accident,” agreed Tim, “But why would I want to go outside? I like it down here.”

“You do? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s _great_ here but I’d go stir crazy if I was here all the time.”

“It’s peaceful,” said Tim, “I like it, it’s safe.”

“I still don’t get why you’re here. Master Jethro isn’t a doctor, he can’t make you better.”

“Some people think I had the car crash because I let some magic get out of control. They’re wrong but I decided that if I did what they wanted – for 100 days – they’d realise that I’m right.”

Tony gazed at him sympathetically, “You’re really sure you don’t have magic?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Tim was surprised to see a sceptical look on Tony’s face, but Tony didn’t challenge him.

“What’s that?” he asked instead, pointing to a stone that Tony was turning over in his hand.

“This?” said Tony holding the stone up.

“Yes. I’ve seen you rubbing it before. What is it?”

Tony smiled reminiscently, “It’s a Homing Stone. Master gave it to me the first time I left here. It will always bring me back.”

“Some people call it a _bad penny_ stone,” said Gibbs overhearing the conversation as he came back in.

Tony frowned and looked uncharacteristically concerned, “And what do _you_ call it, Master?”

Gibbs briefly placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder, “I call it a Homing Stone.”

Tony smiled in relief, “Thanks, Master.”

“Now, clear out. Some of us have work to do.”

XXXXXX

“Master Jethro,” said Tim a few days later, “Why do the books fly around when Tony’s here?”

Gibbs grinned, “They like him.”

“How can books _like_ someone?” McGee looked up sharply as if he had heard something from the shelves, but he didn’t say anything.

“You’ve seen them,” replied Gibbs simply, “He made friends with them.”

“Why?”

“Not my story to tell. You’ll have to ask him.”

But the days passed, and Tony didn’t come back for Tim to ask him about the books. Tim noticed that Gibbs always looked up in anticipation when he heard a visitor and that his face fell slightly when he realised it wasn’t Tony. Then one day, Gibbs stiffened when a particular visitor arrived,

“Master Jethro Gibbs, I seek admission to your halls.”

“You are welcome,” came the equally formal reply, “And peace be on your sojourn.”

Tim made to set out a chair for the new arrival but the man shook his head as he remained standing,

“Jethro …”

“Tobias. Oh, what the hell, sit down can’t you? You’re making my pupil nervous.”

“Pupil? That’s new … what’s your name, kid?”

“Timothy McGee, Master Tobias.”

“McGee? Huh, you related to Captain McGee?”

“He’s my father.”

“Huh.”

“Any news, Fornell?” asked Gibbs.

“Nope. Sorry. And I know you have rules about apologies, but this isn’t an apology – more a statement of fact.”

“What happened?”

“Hell, if I knew that …” snapped Fornell, “… sorry … no, I don’t know what happened. If we knew what happened, we could find them … him.”

“What was he doing?”

“He and Sutcliffe were investigating some containers in the docks … they lost radio contact and we haven’t been able to find them. Seems like they just disappeared off the face of the earth. We’ve got surveillance on places we know are used by the people we’re investigating but they haven’t shown up.”

“And you trust this Sutcliffe guy?”

“Sure. He’s been on the team for 10 years. Doesn’t have magic but he’s a damned fine operative. I’d trust him with my life … and I trusted Tony’s life to him.”

“Tony!” burst in Tim.

Tobias looked at Tim, “Yeah. You know Tony?”

“He drops in, you know that,” said Gibbs.

“Tony’s gone missing?” asked Tim. He was surprised at how shaken he was by the news. Tony was an annoying but necessary part of his life.

“He’ll show up,” said Tobias unconvincingly, “It’s not the first time he’s been in a sticky situation.”

“It’s been a week,” said Gibbs bleakly.

“I know.”

“Couldn’t he use his Homing Stone?” asked Tim.

“Excuse me?” asked Fornell.

“Tony has a Homing Stone,” said Tim, “I thought that would always bring him home.”

“Jethro?”

Gibbs shrugged, “He usually has it with him. And it would bring him back. If he wanted to come. Or if he was able to use it.”

“Can you trace him with it?” asked Tim, “You know, sort of reach out and know where he is?”

“Jethro? Can you do that? Is it one that you made?”

“They’re not designed that way. There’s supposed to be an element of privacy around them. You know, so people can use them without feeling they’re being tracked or spied on.”

“Could you try?” asked Fornell, “Don’t think your boy is going to be too bothered about his civil liberties at the moment.”

“I’ll try,” said Gibbs, “But if he hasn’t used it … well, that suggests something’s blocking it.”

“You can _block_ magic?” asked Tim.

“It can be done,” agreed Fornell.

“Oh,” said Tim thoughtfully as a possibility occurred to him.

“Will you try and trace DiNozzo through the stone?” asked Fornell, “At the minute, I think we’re running out of options.”

Gibbs nodded.

“I’ll be on my way,” Fornell stood but hesitated before leaving as if unsure that the normal blessing would be given.

“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs.

“And a blessing on your endeavours,” replied Fornell with relief, “And good to meet you, kid.”

Silence fell as Fornell retreated up the stairs.

“Master,” said Tim finally.

“Yeah?”

“Why has Tony gone missing?”

“If I knew that, he wouldn’t be missing.”

“No, I meant … is it because of his work?”

“Yes.”

“And what does he do?”

“He works with Master Tobias. Investigating.”

“Is he a policeman?”

“Kinda.”

“Master, are you cross with Master Tobias?”

Gibbs sighed, “Tony made his own decisions. He knew what he was getting into. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“Except the people who’ve got him,” said Tim.

Gibbs smiled grimly, “That’s true. Good point, Tim. And it was a good thought about the Homing Stone.”

Gibbs retreated to his room to see if he could locate Tony through the stone, but he emerged sometime later looking disappointed. Tim didn’t dare to ask how he had fared; somehow, he already knew the answer. Gibbs summoned one of the books from the top shelf and settled down to read it – Tim guessed he was doing research of some sort as he rarely needed actually to read the books.

Tim settled down silently and tried to put _Tony is missing and Master Jethro is worried_ into binary.


	3. Chapter 3

When Tim got up the next morning, he was surprised to see Gibbs with a smile on his face. For a moment, he thought that Tony must have been found but then he realised that there had been a reason for Nora’s plumpness. A basket on the floor outside a door Tim had never opened, was filled with Nora and seven tiny kittens. Jasper sat beside the basket with a proud if bemused look on his face.

“Kittens!” exclaimed Tim.

“Don’t go too close,” warned Gibbs, “She’s protective of them at the moment. She hissed at Jasper a few minutes ago when he sniffed at them.”

“They’re cute,” whispered Tim.

“She’s a good mom,” said Gibbs.

“She’s had kittens before?”

“This is her third litter. And probably the last. Tony was excited about it,” Gibbs sighed. He saw Tim’s entranced expression and found himself oddly moved by it. Tim was, on the whole, a guarded lad who tried not to betray too much emotion, so this excitement was unusual. Gibbs made a decision, “You can name them if you want. Three female and four males.”

“I can?”

Gibbs nodded. Tim immediately took a notebook and pen from his pocket and began to scribble down ideas. Gibbs had decided not to open to clients that day, so Tim had plenty of time to reach his decision,

“I got them!” he announced.

“Good timing,” said Gibbs as he pointed to Nora who had jumped up on to the table and seemed to be ready to welcome inspection of her new family. “Go on then.”

Tim quivered with excitement, “Eagle, Intrepid, Aquarius, Antares, Falcon, Orion and Challenger,” he said proudly, “What do you think?”

Gibbs, as so many times before with Tim, wasn’t sure what he thought, “Interesting,” he managed after a pause, “Um, why would you call cats after birds?”

“I didn’t.”

“Um, pretty sure that eagles and falcons are birds,” said Gibbs mildly.

“Well, sure they’re _birds_,” agreed Tim, “But they’re all lunar modules.”

“Excuse me?”

“The moon landings! I thought it would be cool to name the kittens after the lunar modules. What do you think?”

“You’re interested in the moon landings?”

“Well, of course.”

“Then if that’s what you want, that’s fine. I told you could name them, and you’ve named them. You’ll have to work out which are girl names, and which are boy names. And hey, I’ve just remembered …”

“Yes?”

“Tony wanted one of them to be called Smudge.”

“Smudge?”

“Yes.”

“Why Smudge?”

Gibbs shrugged. He knew Tony better than he knew Tim, but he would not claim always to understand how his mind worked, “Don’t know. But the last litter, there was a kitten called Smudge who didn’t make it. Tony wanted to try again.”

“OK. Well, perhaps – as Apollo 13 didn’t get to use its lunar module – I guess we could lose that name.”

“Fair enough. Which one was that?”

“You don’t remember?” asked a disappointed Tim.

“Must have slipped my mind,” lied Gibbs.

“It’s Aquarius.”

“OK, so the names are?”

“Eagle, Intrepid, Antares, Falcon, Orion, Challenger and Smudge.”

Gibbs nodded wryly, somehow, he thought it was a crazy enough mixture for his basement. He looked up as he heard someone at the door,

“Jethro, I seek admission to your halls.”

“You are welcome, and peace be on your sojourn.”

“Thank you, Jethro. You know, while these formalities may be somewhat archaic, I find them to be reassuring and somehow beyond being a platitude. I trust you will forgive the intrusion; I know this is a trying time for you, but I heard that there had been a _happy event_ and I remembered promising Tony that I would offer any medical assistance that might be required. Although, looking at dear Nora, I would surmise that all has gone well.”

Tim found himself rather breathless from this speech, but Gibbs took it in his stride,

“You’re always welcome, Duck. You know that. And yeah, Nora’s fine. No fuss.”

“I am glad to hear it. But Jethro, please introduce me to this young man. I haven’t yet had the pleasure of meeting your new protégé.”

“This is Timothy McGee. Tim, this is a friend of mine – Dr Donald Mallard.”

“Known as Ducky to my friends,” beamed Ducky, “And I trust you will wish to be counted among their number.”

Tim nodded dumbly.

“Tim’s just given names to the new kittens,” said Gibbs.

“Indeed. And what names have you bestowed, dear boy?”

“Eagle, Intrepid, Antares, Falcon, Orion, Challenger and Smudge.”

“Fascinating, fascinating. You must enlighten me at some point as to the reasons for that particular combination of names,” said Ducky politely, “But, Jethro, please tell me you have better news of your other protégé.”

“Can’t do that, Duck. Fornell was here the other day. They’re still looking.”

“Oh. Well, that is disappointing but chin up, Tony is resilient. I am sure he will come through this as he has come through other storms in his life,” said Ducky optimistically. “And now, young man, how are your studies coming along?”

“They’re not,” said Gibbs curtly.

“I beg your pardon,” said Ducky.

“Tim doesn’t want to learn about magic.”

“I see. Well, no, I don’t see. This is obviously something else about which I need to be enlightened.”

Neither Tim nor Gibbs seemed inclined to _enlighten_ the doctor so he decided to change the subject, “I wonder if perhaps I might trouble you for a cup of tea, Jethro? I find myself a little parched following a meeting with … What was that?” Ducky looked up as he heard a faint noise against the door at the top of the stairs. He saw the books stir restlessly.

“Don’t know,” said Gibbs. He waved a hand and they heard the door open. “Tim, get behind me,” Gibbs ordered as he prepared for the unknown. A few seconds passed as something travelled down the stairs to the door to the basement and they heard a weak thump against the door. As the door opened a book fluttered through and dropped to the floor.

“What the …” exclaimed Gibbs as he went cautiously to examine the book. Sensing there was nothing sinister about it, he stooped to pick it up.

“What is it?” asked Ducky.

Gibbs squinted at the spine of the book, “_Wind in the Willows_ by Kenneth Grahame.”

“And where did it come from?”

The other books floated over quietly and hovered around Gibbs.

“The books seem interested,” observed Tim.

“It’s a children’s book,” said Ducky, “A classic. I remember my dear mother reading it to me …”

Gibbs opened the book, and something fell out and rolled across the table.

“What’s that …?” asked Ducky.

Gibbs picked it up, “Just a sliver of stone.” He rolled it around thoughtfully before closing his eyes and concentrating.

“Jethro?” asked Ducky after a few moments, “What is going on?”

“I don’t know but I think … I think … this is a chip off Tony’s Homing Stone.”

Ducky looked around as if he expected to see Tony walking through the door as well, “How did it get here?”

“I guess it Homed,” said Gibbs.

“Do you think Tony sent it?” asked Tim.

“But why would he send a chip off the stone and not come himself?” asked Ducky.

Gibbs waved a hand, “I’ve sent a message to Fornell.” He peered at the book and rifled through the pages, “Can’t see any message,” he said.

“Forgive me, but are we sure it’s Tony’s stone and not just some random fragment?” asked Ducky.

“I made it, Duck so yes, I’m sure.”

A few minutes later, Fornell came running down the stairs, “What’s happened?” he demanded.

Gibbs explained about the arrival of the book and the stone chip.

“You think Tony sent it?”

“Yes.”

“Can the stone go back to where it came from?” asked Tim hopefully.

“No, doesn’t work like that. This is just a simple stone, just for getting home not for travelling around,” frowned Gibbs.

“Then why did he send it? And why didn’t he use it himself?” asked Fornell in frustration.

The books jiggled up and down excitedly.

“The book!” said Gibbs, “The book will know where it was. It can take us to wherever Tony is.”

“You sure?” asked Fornell.

“You got a better idea, Tobias?”

“Guess not. You want to come?”

“Damn straight, I do. Ducky, will you stay here with Tim?”

“Assuredly. It will be my privilege and pleasure. I will undertake … oh, they’ve gone. Timothy, I wonder – perhaps I could instruct you in the making of a pot of tea?”

“I don’t do magic,” said Tim firmly.

“Indeed not. And, although I don’t broadcast this among my _magical_ friends, I prefer it made by hand. I think it improves for being made slowly and carefully.”

XXXXXX

The rest of the day passed slowly for Ducky and Tim as they waited for news. Tim explained the origin of the kittens’ names to Ducky who was fascinated by the notion and turned out to be very knowledgeable about the moon programme,

“Indeed, with all due modesty, I can say that I considered being an applicant for the space programme. I would have found it fascinating and I think, at that stage, my scientific training was on the cusp, so to speak, and I could easily have switched to the studies required.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Oh, well there was the small matter of the United Kingdom not having a space programme aimed at a moon landing … and I doubt whether the United States would have had a place available for a non-American national. So I decided to stay on my original path, and I must say that I have never regretted the decision although sometimes, when I see a full moon floating in a starlit sky … well, I have pangs of regret. But, as you will learn my boy, there are many roads in life destined not to be travelled.”

“Oh.”

“And I like to think I played a small part in the success of the moon landing …”

“You do?”

“Yes, I helped a number of people who worked at the space centre get over an allergy they had developed to the lavatory paper in use there … I think that successful outcome led, indirectly of course, to the eventual triumphant conclusion of the mission.”

Other people might not have been greatly impressed by this insight, but Tim was fascinated, “You knew people who worked at the space centre?” he gasped.

“Indeed. And I could tell you many stories of what they told me about what it was like to work there.”

“Please!”

Ducky smiled happily; it was rare for him to find such a willing captive audience. “I will do so happily but might I also suggest that we assign the names to the kittens?”

The kittens were duly named although, Tim was disappointed to learn, they didn’t immediately respond to their new titles. Ducky assembled a meal for them and somehow, as the day progressed to night, Tim found himself being lulled to sleep by Ducky’s calming voice.

Ducky smiled with satisfaction as he saw that his strategy had worked, and the teenager had rested his head on the table and fallen asleep. And then his face hardened as he settled in for his vigil, wondering what Gibbs and Fornell had discovered.

Tim was jerked back to wakefulness by the sound of the door swinging open and Gibbs’ voice saying,

“Give us a hand, Duck!”

Tim tried to orientate himself as he looked around the room. For a moment he thought Master Jethro had returned alone but then he saw that he and Master Tobias were carrying Tony’s limp form between them.

Ducky’s usual volubility was abandoned, “Where shall we put him, Jethro?”

“Studio.”

Tim looked around again, wondering where the _studio_ was but then he saw the door he had never seen opened before swing open. He hurried to hold it open as Tony was carried through.

“Is he all right?” he asked as he saw Tony’s closed eyes and pale face marred by bruises.

“If he knows what’s good for him,” said Gibbs sternly.

“Watch out, Timothy,” called Ducky just in time to enable Tim to duck as a medical bag came flying across the room. “Jethro, get me some hot water, please. Tobias, a blanket for him if you please, he needs to be warmed up.” He bent over the bed on which Tony had been placed, “Tony, can you wake up for me, please?” He got no response and looked towards Gibbs and Fornell, “Has he spoken since you located him?”

“He woke up for a few seconds as we carried him out,” said Fornell, “But nothing since then.”

“I see. I will carry out an examination. Gentlemen, once you have provided what I requested then I would suggest that you give us some privacy. Be assured that I will summon you immediately should I need your assistance.” Ducky made a shooing motion with his hands and the others found themselves obediently leaving the doctor with his patient.

“I’m going to head back,” said Fornell after looking around a little aimlessly, “There’s still work to be done there.”

Gibbs nodded, “I’ll let you know how he goes on,” he promised. Fornell still hesitated so Gibbs said, “Fair passage on all your journeys.”

“And a blessing on your endeavours,” replied Fornell who, with a last look at the closed studio door, made his departure.

“What you doing still being up, Tim?” asked Gibbs.

“I wasn’t … I mean I fell asleep, Master,” said Tim.

Gibbs sat down at the table and ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. Tim had a moment of insight and went to get him a cup of coffee, “We kept it hot,” he explained, “Dr Ducky thought you might want some when you … when you got back.”

Gibbs accepted the mug and raised it in salute, “Thanks,” he took a deep draught, “Hmm, Duck makes good coffee.”

“I know how to make good tea as well now,” said Tim.

“Huh, I won’t test that just now.”

“Um, Master … what happened? Is Tony going to be all right?”

“The book took us to where he was being held. Fornell’s guys would never have found him – he was hundreds of miles away from the nearest suspected area. He was being held in a cellar – it was cloaked in some way so his magic couldn’t get out … and there was a sort of dampening effect draining the magic from him. He looked exhausted …” Gibbs’ eyes strayed towards the closed door.

“Dampening? That’s possible then?” asked Tim.

“Seems to be … we’ll know more when he wakes up.”

“Did you have to … fight to get him out?”

“We managed,” said Gibbs as he decided that the boy didn’t need to know the details, “There were a lot of us.”

“And did you get the other missing person?”

“Sutcliffe? Yes, we got him too. They were being kept separate. He was in rough shape too but not so drained.”

“And he’ll be all right? Tony’ll be OK?”

“He’s in good hands. Ducky’s a good doctor … he’s patched both of us up before now.” Gibbs looked up as the door opened. Ducky stood there with a disapproving look on his face,

“Our patient is awake and seems to need to talk to you, Jethro. I have remonstrated with him, but he is insistent.”

Gibbs hastened to his feet and strode towards the studio. Tim decided not to wait for an invitation and followed him quietly.

“He will likely fall asleep while he is talking to you, Jethro,” said Ducky quietly, “But I urge you not to do anything to agitate him.”

Gibbs nodded and sat down by the bed, “Hey, you had us worried there.”

Tony managed a tired grin, “Had me worried too. Wasn’t sure it would work.”

“Would what work?”

“The Homing Stone … sorry, by the way.”

“What for?”

“I know you’ve got a rule about apologies, but I am sorry. Had to chip off a bit.”

“That’s OK, don’t worry.”

“Took me a long time to do it. You make those stones tough, Master.”

“Have to … with vandals like you around!”

Tony smiled again but it was a long way from his best effort, “Have you got the book?” he asked.

Gibbs took _The_ _Wind in the Willows_ out of his jacket pocket, “Here.”

The book wriggled out of Gibbs’ hand and floated down to Tony’s chest. Tony sighed and patted the book, “Thanks,” he whispered.

“What did you do?” asked Gibbs.

“They let me have books, one at a time and they took them away once I’d read them. I remembered this one … my Mom used to read it to me. I kinda made friends with it …”

Gibbs nodded as pieces fell into place, “So you gave it a bit of the Homing Stone to bring it here.”

Tony nodded, “Couldn’t be a big piece ‘cos it would have been spotted. Just enough to bring it here. Bring it home … where I wanted to be … badger …”

“Badger?” queried Gibbs but he got no answer, Tony had fallen asleep clutching the book.

“He’ll sleep now,” said Ducky confidently. He turned as he saw something at the door, “Jethro, I think we should allow the other books in. They are anxious and they have the shelves to go to.”

Gibbs nodded permission and the books floated in. They hovered over Tony’s sleeping form for a moment or two and then flew silently to the bookshelves.

“Go to bed, Tim,” ordered Gibbs.

Tim yawned as he turned to go, “What about you, Master?”

“I’ll stay here a while,” said Gibbs not taking his eyes off Tony, “Go on, we’ll be all right.”

“Indeed we will,” said Ducky warmly, “Now that Tony is restored to us.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tim went reluctantly to bed with his mind whirling: he was relieved to see Tony back, puzzled by how he had managed to send a message and intrigued by the possibility of magic being _dampened_. Despite his mind being active, it turned out that his body needed rest and he fell asleep almost immediately he put his head on his pillow.

“Where’s Nora?” he asked when he got up the next morning and saw Ducky sitting at the worktable.

Ducky smiled, “Go and see,” he said pointing to the studio door.

Intrigued, Tim went cautiously to the door and peered in. He saw a sleeping Tony with a cluster of kittens purring on his chest while Nora looked on. Gibbs was asleep in the chair by the bed … or perhaps not as he seemed to sense Tim standing there and raised a hand in a gesture which suggested he needed coffee.

“You’re allowed to talk,” said Tony drowsily. He blinked as he saw the kittens, “Fatty catty is fatty no more,” he observed.

“You’re lucky Nora likes you,” commented Gibbs otherwise you might not get away with calling her fat.”

“They got names yet?”

“Tim named them,” said Gibbs in a tone of voice which suggested he was denying any responsibility, “Although I said we had to call one Smudge.”

“Thanks,” said Tony with a wistful smile, “And what did you call the others, Tim?”

“Um, Eagle, Intrepid, Antares, Falcon, Orion, Challenger … they’re …”

“Huh, lunar module names … that’s pretty cool, Pupil Tim.” Tony’s eyes drifted shut once more.

“How did he know?” asked Tim, “Nobody else has.”

Gibbs shrugged, “Who knows? Has someone made a movie about moon landings?”

“Some … why, does Tony like movies?”

Gibbs barked a laugh, “Come on, let’s leave him to Nora and get some breakfast.”

Gibbs, Ducky and Tim made a hearty breakfast although Tim wasn’t relieved enough at Tony’s return to take up his suggestion of scrambled instead of fried eggs. Gibbs decided not to open for clients but wasn’t surprised when a stream of well-wishers came during the morning bearing gifts designed to help a patient recover.

Ducky emerged from the sick room to look over the offerings,

“Hmm,” he said thoughtfully, “It shows how times have changed, I suppose …”

“Duck?”

“In my youth, invalids would have been urged to consume calves foot jelly and beef tea … but now we recommend glucose drinks and soup …”

“Probably just as well, Duck. Can’t see Tony being big on calves foot jelly,” said Gibbs. He looked at Ducky’s face, “Something wrong?”

Ducky sighed, “I fear that Tony’s recovery is not going to be as straightforward as I had hoped. He is running a fever and is somewhat delirious. I feel that your calming presence would be of assistance. He is muttering about badgers for some reason I am unable to fathom.”

Gibbs was up and on his way to the studio before the doctor had finished speaking, “Need anything else, Duck?”

“Perhaps Timothy could fetch a pitcher of water? I have cast a cooling spell on a blanket but, if you can think of a better charm, I would be happy to defer to your skills.”

Tim ran to the kitchen to get a jug of water although he wondered why Dr Ducky didn’t just summon one himself.

It was left to Tim to greet the visitors for the rest of the day and to accept the offered gifts. Periodically, he was requested to get more cool water and sometimes, on his own initiative, he fetched tea and coffee for Gibbs and Ducky.

“How is he?” he asked on one of his visits. He looked down at Tony who was now flushed and sweaty rather than pale and was fidgeting restlessly on the bed.

“Still running the fever, I fear,” said Ducky, “But I am optimistic that it is simply burning away the infection within him.”

“The cellar was filthy,” said Gibbs angrily.

“And the boy is exhausted,” said Ducky, “It is hardly surprising that he did not emerge unscathed.”

“But he’s going to be OK, isn’t he?” asked Tim anxiously.

“I am confident that it is just a matter of time,” replied Ducky calmly, “I think we need just to help his body fight the infection.”

“Hey, Tony,” said Gibbs in a gentler tone than Tim had ever heard him use, “You don’t need to worry. Everything’s going to be OK,” he took a cloth from a bowl he had filled with the iced water provided by Tim, and wiped Tony’s forehead. Tony briefly paused from his restless shifting but then resumed again. Gibbs looked around to Tim, “Visiting’s over for the day,” he told him. He closed his eyes for a moment, “And your meal is on the table. Go and eat.”

Tim nodded and turned to go. 

“And Tim?”

“Yes, Master?”

“You’ve done good today. Well done.”

“Yes, Timothy, you have been a great help today,” chimed in Ducky.

Tim could feel himself flush with pride, but he simply nodded and left the room. A few minutes later, he was back with two plates of food,

“You both need to eat as well,” he said firmly. He thought for a moment that he had done the wrong thing but then the two older men sighed and reached out their hands for the food,

“Quite right, Timothy,” commended Ducky, “No point in us fainting by the wayside.”

“Fainting?” said Gibbs in a mortified tone.

“Forgive me, Jethro, I know that you would never do something as _weak_ as faint by the wayside but even your admirable constitution requires adequate fuel.”

Gibbs stared at Ducky but decided not to embark on a discussion about _admirable constitutions_ but simply ate his food in his usual brisk manner.

As the night drew on, Tim was despatched to bed along with Nora and the kittens which, it was felt, were not soothing companions for a sick bed.

“I shouldn’t have let him work for Fornell,” said Gibbs as midnight drew near.

“Excuse me?”

“This wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t an _investigator._ It’s too dangerous. I should have stopped him.”

“My dear Jethro, do you really believe you could have _stopped_ him?”

“Tony listens to me. He’d have done what I said.”

“Tony is a strongminded and independent young man. I agree that he respects and listens to you, but he made the decision to be an investigator after careful thought. This is not your fault, Jethro.”

“He wouldn’t have even thought about it if I hadn’t introduced him to Tobias.”

“Jethro, Tobias Fornell is one of your closest friends. How on earth do you think you could have kept them apart?”

“I could have tried.”

“But why would you have thought to do so? Tobias is a fine man; Tony could have done far worse than follow him in a career course. And you know that …”

Gibbs didn’t look up from Tony’s frowning face, “I guess …”

“Of course you do. I understand that this is very distressing … I feel a measure of your anguish myself …”

“It’s just hard to see him like this. I’d give … I’d rather …”

“Yes, yes, I know. You would be willing to take his place. But you can’t, Jethro. All you can do is be there for him. And that’s all that he would ask of you. You know, he carries that Homing Stone for a reason …”

“Yeah?”

“It is his most precious possession, Jethro. It stands for home … and that is no small thing for Tony.”

Gibbs nodded rather than replying this time and he resumed his bathing of Tony’s face. Ducky smiled at his care of his former apprentice and then frowned as he recast the cooling spell for the blanket.

In the early hours of the morning, as Ducky began to think he had reached the limits of his endurance, he stretched out his hand to touch Tony’s forehead as he had done numberless times before,

“Oh!”

“Duck?”

“I do believe that he is slightly cooler. Jethro, I think his fever is breaking! Feel for yourself.”

Gibbs did as he was told and breathed a sigh of relief, “Think you’re right, Duck. And he looks easier too.”

“He’s going to be all right, Jethro.”

The look of relief on Ducky’s face told Gibbs that he hadn’t been as confident of the outcome as he had seemed, but Gibbs couldn’t blame him – he had harboured severe doubts himself. The books floated down for a better look and then hummed as they returned to their places. There was a soft tap on the door and a sleepy looking Tim stood there,

“Has something happened?” he asked.

“Indeed it has! Tony’s fever has broken, and he is sleeping easier. See for yourself, Timothy,” said Ducky.

Tim grinned happily and then stood there wondering what to do next. Gibbs took pity on him, “Time for breakfast, I think.”

“I think I’ll try scrambled eggs,” announced Tim; it was the best way he could think of celebrating the moment.

Gibbs laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, “Duck, what do you want?”

“I will be out directly. Just let me check on my patient …”

XXXXXX

Later that day, with Tony still sleeping peacefully and caught up with his own sleep, Gibbs decided to open up for clients for an hour or so. It wasn’t long before the first visitor arrived,

“Master Gibbs, I seek admission to your halls.”

“You are welcome, and peace be on your sojourn. Director Vance, what are you doing here?” asked Gibbs in surprise.

“I heard your _boy_ was in trouble. Came to see how he’s doing.”

“He wasn’t in _trouble_,” said Gibbs sternly, “He was kidnapped while he was working.”

“And who’s this?” asked Vance looking at Tim.

“This is Timothy McGee, my pupil.”

“Pupil? I didn’t know you took in pupils, Jethro.”

“You don’t know everything, _Leon_.”

Tim looked anxiously between the two adults, unsure what they really felt about each other.

“Timothy McGee? Are you Captain McGee’s son?” asked Vance.

“Yes Sir, I mean, Master … Director Van.”

“Vance, it’s Vance. How are you enjoying your time with Master Gibbs, Pupil McGee?”

“Er … it’s fine, Sir … Director.”

“Huh. Hey, Jethro, if you decide you want more pupils, I can find you some …”

“Tim was recommended by Seer Morrow,” the implication was clear. Gibbs relied on _Morrow’s _recommendation.

The two men eyeballed each other for a moment or two before Vance relaxed his stance, “Jethro,” he said more peaceably, “How is Tony? I was concerned.”

Gibbs decided to stand down from his own tension, “Fever broke early this morning. Ducky’s with him now. He’ll be fine.”

“I saw Tobias. He said that DiNozzo had done a good job.”

“And that surprises you, _Leon_,” challenged Gibbs.

It seemed that Leon had decided on non-confrontation, “No, of course not … you forget that I’m well aware of Tony’s skills.”

Tim was surprised to see the two men grin at one another at some shared memory.

“Yeah, that was quite a day, wasn’t it?” remembered Gibbs.

FLASHBACK

“Why do I have to wear this again?” asked Tony petulantly as he tugged at the short academic gown he was wearing over his only suit.

“Told you,” said Gibbs whose patience was wearing thin, “It’s expected.”

“Didn’t think you did _what’s expected_,” grumbled Tony.

“Hey! Quit pulling it,” barked Gibbs, batting Tony’s hand away.

“My dear boy,” said Ducky soothingly, “Jethro is quite right. Academic attire is expected on occasions like this. In fact, in some more _traditional_ establishments it would have been expected that you wore such garments whenever you were receiving instruction.”

“What!” gasped Tony in horror.

“So think yourself lucky,” said Gibbs, “Now, are you ready?”

Tony swallowed anxiously, “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master. I guess I’m more nervous than …”

“It is quite understandable, Tony … why, I remember my own feelings on my own … but that is a story for another time.”

“You’ll be fine, Tony,” said Gibbs, “You can do everything you’ll be asked.”

“I guess … and you’re sure I have to do this?”

Gibbs suppressed a sigh and decided not to go for yet more explanations. He simply said, “Yes.”

“Then let’s go,” said Tony with the air of someone jumping out a plane with a parachute he wasn’t sure was going to open.

“I’ll be waiting for you,” said Ducky cheerily.

Gibbs and Tony used one of Jethro’s Travel Talismans to arrive smoothly at their destination.

“You were nearly late,” observed the host.

“Nearly is good enough,” said Gibbs, “Director Leon Vance, we seek admission to your halls,” he added formally.

“You are welcome,” came the equally formal reply, “And peace be on your sojourn, Master Gibbs. And I assume this is Apprentice Anthony DiNozzo?”

Tony swallowed his dislike of being called _Anthony_, “Yes, and it is an honour to be admitted to your halls, Director Van.”

“_Vance,_” hissed Gibbs in an undertone.

“I mean, Director Vance.”

“Hmm. Are you ready?”

The look of panic on Tony’s face suggested he wasn’t but he managed a shaky nod.

“Then come this way. Master Gibbs, you know you have to wait outside?”

“Not my first rodeo, Leon.”

“And you know that the chamber is sealed. You won’t be able to help.”

“Tony won’t need help,” said Gibbs confidently.

“Hmm, well, we’ll see, won’t we? In fact, Apprentice Anthony, why don’t you go on in. I’ll be with you shortly. I want a word with your Master.”

Tony looked at Gibbs and, receiving a nod of approval, did as he was told.

“You sure about this, Jethro?” asked Vance when they were alone.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s … how old?”

“18 last birthday.”

“It’s a bit old to be taking his first examination … and a little young to be taking his final one as well.”

“He’ll do.”

“Has he really covered the whole curriculum?”

“Yes.”

“You mean that _you_ taught him about the history of magic?” asked Vance sceptically.

“Got Ducky to cover that,” admitted Gibbs, “And he’s taught him some medical usages too.”

“And the rest of the studies?”

“I taught him. You saying I’m not qualified?”

“No. No, of course not but I’ve never known you to have an apprentice before. You’ll understand my doubts.”

“I wouldn’t have brought him here to waste your time, Leon.”

“Well …”

“And speaking of wasting time … isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

“Fair enough,” Vance straightened his own gown, “Just don’t blame me if it all goes wrong. I gave you a get-out.”

“I won’t blame you,” said Gibbs assuredly.

Director Vance entered his room and tapped the door to activate the seal. He saw Tony standing in front of his bookshelves, looking at the books.

“It’s too late to be trying to revise now, Apprentice Anthony,” he said firmly.

“I know … I was just looking to see … yes, I know.”

“Sit down. Master Gibbs says that you intend to take, and pass, all your examinations today in order to validate the ending of your apprenticeship. Is that correct?”

Tony sat down in front of the impressive wooden desk and gazed at an equally impressive silver desk set. He managed to tear his eyes away finally and replied,

“Yes. Yes, it is. Director Van-ce.”

“And you’re sure this is what you wish to do? It is most unusual.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Or well, actually, Master Jethro is sure, so that means I’m sure. Director Vance.”

Vance nodded. He was fairly sure now that Gibbs had somehow transfixed the young man into agreeing. He had allocated the traditional five hours for the examination but was now confident he’d be out in time for lunch … in fact, he might even be out in time for his usual coffee break. “Hmm, I understand that there is no magic in your family?”

“That’s right. Or it might not be. My father isn’t in contact with his family in Italy, so he doesn’t know everything about them. And my mother’s family are from England … and my great uncle Clive thinks there might be some history of magic, but the records aren’t complete.”

“Hmm … so we can be fairly sure that there’s no _recent_ history of magical manifestation in your family.”

“Uh no, Sir … I mean, yes there’s no history,” Tony tried a smile, but he didn’t think it worked well on the impassive Director.

“And yet you believe that you have magic?”

“Yes, Director. And Master Jethro does too. I mean, he believes I have magic – you already know that he has magic.” The smile was attempted again but even more shakily.

“Hmm, well let’s get this over with … I mean, let’s begin …


	5. Chapter 5

“Can you tell me the books which contain the basic hortations, talismans, charms and spells required for an apprentice’s first year of study?”

“Oh. Well, I kind of used them all at once,” said Tony, “Master Jethro didn’t really follow … but I think the basics would be in _The American Guide to Hortations and Spells; Charms for Beginners _and_ Magical Insights for Initiates_. Although I think the second edition of _The American Guide_ is better than the third edition. I think it’s more in depth about Hortations.”

“I see,” Vance made a note, “And what would you do to identify the presence of residual magic?”

“I’d run the Revelatory Redaction,” said Tony promptly, “From _The American Guide_, although,” he leaned forward confidentially, “I prefer the Enlightenment Enchantment, but the Revelatory Redaction is what Master Jethro wants me to use.”

“Hmm, well that seems satisfactory. And I will admit to sharing your preference,” the Director looked surprised to realise he was in accord with the examinee.

The next few minutes were spent in testing Tony’s knowledge of the theory of magic before Vance decided on the first practical test,

“I’d like you to produce a charm to prevent a small animal from straying. If you wish, you may consult any notes you have brought with you,” he added graciously.

“Notes? I didn’t know I was meant to bring _notes_,” said Tony in something like a panic.

“I see … well, it is a fairly recently introduced concession. Perhaps Master Jethro wasn’t aware of the _modern_ standards. Well, do your best. Take your time. Well, not too much time, of course …”

There was a slight popping sound and then, almost before Vance had finished speaking, Tony was holding out a stone, “I think this will do it.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Well, I haven’t had to prevent a _rabbit_ from straying,” said Tony honestly, “But, so long as we’re both picturing the same size of rabbit, it’ll be OK.”

Vance summoned the rabbit that he had borrowed from his daughter. The animal hopped happily at the Director’s feet. “How should I use the stone?” he asked.

“Draw a circle around the rabbit with the stone. He … or she … won’t stray over the boundary.”

Vance did as he was told and sat back to watch. He knew that Kayla’s rabbit _Nightwing_ was fidgety and would soon stray. Sure enough, after a few seconds Nightwing began to move but as, she reached the invisible limits of the circle, turned back and sat down.

“Er … that seems satisfactory,” said Vance.

Three hours later, Director Vance, put his pen down and sighed. Tony looked back anxiously. “That was … extraordinary,” said Vance at last.

“Sir?”

“You got full marks in every subject …”

“I did?”

“Yes. In fact, your knowledge of some of the areas in magical history is beyond me. Although, of course, you might have been wrong in what you said, I wouldn’t know.”

“Dr Ducky taught me,” said Tony as if that explained everything – which it did.

“And the only instruction you’ve had has been from Master Gibbs and Dr Mallard?”

“Yes, Sir. They’re good teachers.”

“Apparently so. Well, Apprentice Anthony, I suggest we bring your Master in,” Tony nodded. Vance decided to keep Gibbs guessing, “And Apprentice Anthony, it’s traditional not to let the Master know the results immediately. Understand?”

Tony didn’t understand but, despite his expertise in 17th century magical history, he was still unused to many of the ways of contemporary magical society, so he simply accepted this as another quirk.

Gibbs came in promptly although he was surprised to be summoned almost two hours before the examinations were due to finish.

“Ah, Master Gibbs,” said Vance heavily, “I saw no point in continuing the examination …” Gibbs began to bristle at the unfairness; he wondered if Seer Morrow would intervene on Tony’s side. His mouth narrowed and he crossed his arms as if ready to fight. “In fact, I’ve never had such an experience before,” said Vance sadly, “It was …”

“You probably never gave him a chance, Leon. You’d made up your mind before you even started … well, this isn’t the end … there are other arbiters and examiners, you know …”

“And I’m sure they would come to the same conclusion as I,” said Vance portentously.

Gibbs’ face darkened still further but, before he could speak, the Director continued, “Yes, I am sure that my fellow examiners would agree in awarding Apprentice Anthony full marks. I have great pleasure in bestowing his diplomas marked _egregia cum laude_!”

Gibbs whirled around in Tony’s direction as he heard a stifled giggle, “You were in on this?” he demanded.

“It was my idea,” said Vance who was not bothering to stifle his own laugh, “And it was worth it to see your face, Jethro!”

“So he passed?” demanded Gibbs.

“With flying colours. I have rarely enjoyed an examination as much,” said Vance, “You can be very proud of your boy, Jethro.”

“I am,” said Gibbs temperately, “Although I may be having words with him about tricking me!”

Tony grinned back and somehow, Vance thought it seemed that Tony was not afraid of Gibbs.

“So,” said Vance, “This means that Tony is no longer an Apprentice. Do you want to mark that formally now? I believe that Seer Morrow is available – it was he who witnessed the original agreement, so it seems fitting that he witness its termination.”

“Sure,” said Gibbs, “And I’ll summon Ducky too. He had a hand in this as well.”

“Of course,” said Vance graciously.

And so it was, that a few minutes later, Vance declared that Apprentice Anthony DiNozzo had passed all the stages necessary to establish his expertise and that he was ready to be declared a junior Master. Then Tony, Gibbs and Seer Morrow countersigned the declaration of the dissolution of the apprenticeship agreement. As they clasped hands afterwards, the traditional beam of light shone down on to the parchment.

“May I offer my most hearty congratulations, Tony,” said Ducky as he embraced the young man.

“Thank you, Dr Ducky. And the Director said that I’d learned more history than he knows …”

“Really, now that is most gratifying. I have been thinking, you know, of taking up some formal lecturing on the subject. Perhaps, my dear Leon, if you have any candidates who you feel would benefit from some personal tutoring, I could offer my expertise to them …”

“So, Tony,” said Seer Morrow, “What are your plans now that your apprenticeship is over?”

“I’ve told him he can stay on and help me,” said Gibbs gruffly.

“I’m sure there would be a vacancy on the administrative side of the Magical Council,” said Vance, “It would be good to get some new blood … and not because we’ve started employing vampires,” he added.

“What’s put you in such a good mood, Leon?” asked Gibbs, “Pretending you’d failed Tony … and now a vampire joke …”

“It’s the sort of room to put you in a good mood,” interpolated Tony.

“What?” asked Vance and Gibbs together.

“Well, you know … you can feel all the magic that’s been done in here. I don’t mean that you don’t clear it all away, Director Vance,” he added hastily, “But I reckon magic sort of seeps into the bones of a room … especially when it’s _good _magic. It’s like Master Jethro’s basement, people are usually happy when they’re there – even if they weren’t when they first arrive.”

Vance gazed at Tony trying to digest the thought that his room was a _happy_ one … and to come to terms with the idea that Gibbs’ basement was also a contented place.

“You didn’t answer, Tony,” said Seer Morrow, “What are your plans?”

“I’m going to Ohio State.”

“Ohio State what?” asked Morrow.

“Ohio State University,” said Gibbs slightly glumly.

“To do what?” asked the Seer.

“I’m doing a phys-ed major and a magical studies minor.”

“Why?” asked Vance, “You’ve got so much magic in you … why do that?”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment and then said, “Because I want to. And it feels good to make my own decision …”

“Sounds good to me,” said Gibbs putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder, “And he’s got the Homing Stone. And he knows how to use it.”

Tony leant into the touch a little, “Thanks Master Jethro.”

“You’re welcome, _Master_ Tony,” replied Gibbs.

“How do you feel, Tony?” asked Morrow, “Now your apprenticeship is over?”

“Well, I’m kinda sad that that’s over but I’m going to be playing sport! How great is that?” His face split into the broadest grin Gibbs had ever seen on his face and he swung his arms in triumph.

“What was that?” asked Vance as he heard a noise behind him. Gibbs’ eyes went first to the books and he was relieved to see Vance’s books still neatly in their places. His eyes dropped to the desk where he saw the ink well sashaying across the blotter with the dip pen while the fountain pen and mechanical pencil danced around them. The eyes of the room’s other occupants followed Gibbs’ gaze: they all watched as the desk set items danced to the beat created by the stationery box opening and closing its lid before they all stopped and bowed in Tony’s direction. Then, formality abandoned, they all jumped and down with excitement before floating towards Tony.

“You made friends with the _desk set_?” asked Gibbs with fond exasperation.

Tony shrugged, “They get bored just sitting on the desk.”

END FLASHBACK

“You know,” said Vance, “The desk set still gets up and dances sometimes. Seems to know when I need cheering up!”

“That’s Tony,” said Gibbs wryly as he reflected on why the Director might need cheering up at times.

“I brought him something,” continued Vance, “Actually, it would be more accurate to say that it hitched a ride.”

“Leon?”

Vance grinned as he took a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, “Found this in my jacket pocket this morning … I think it’s been sent as a representative!”

“I’ll make sure he gets it,” said Gibbs.

“Give him my best … and don’t forget, if you want some more pupils or even another apprentice, I can steer some your way.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Gibbs in a tone which suggested he wouldn’t.

“Pupil Timothy, enjoy the rest of your stay with Master Jethro … and Master Tony of course.,” said Vance graciously to Tim, “I look forward to your examination in due course.”

Tim’s mouth dropped open at the bombshells just dropped and didn’t reply. Fortunately, the Director’s elevated status made him used to people being tongue-tied with awe in his presence.

“Fair passage on all your journeys,” said Gibbs as a way of prompting the visitor to leave.

“And a blessing on your endeavours,” came the prompt reply.

“What?” asked Gibbs as he saw Tim was still in a state of shock.

Tim swallowed anxiously, “What did he mean? He looks forward to my examination?”

“Nothing to worry about, Tim. It’s tradition for the end of a pupillage or apprenticeship to be marked by an oral examination.”

“And I’ll have to do that?” Tim squeaked.

“Only if you want to … and it’s a magical examination … won’t be any point if you’re not controlling any magic.”

“Oh,” said Tim with relief, “That’s OK then. I get real nervous in exams – even ones where I know about the subject.”

“That’s OK then,” Gibbs wasn’t in the mood to pursue Tim’s skittishness around magic, “What?” he asked again as he saw that his pupil was still distracted.

“Um, the Director called Tony, _Master_ Tony.”

“That’s right. Technically it’s _Junior_ Master but we tend not to be pedantic.”

Tim had no trouble believing that Gibbs was not pedantic, “So, Tony is a Master … Junior Master?”

“Sure. He passed all the examinations … he’s probably ready to go up to full Master but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“I didn’t realise,” Tim frowned, “But he told me to call him _Tony_ – should I have been calling him Master all this time?”

“Don’t think anyone calls him Master,” said Gibbs reflectively … not even Ducky and you know what a stickler he is.”

“I guess.”

“Ah Jethro,” said Ducky emerging from the studio, “I am delighted to announce that the patient is awake and ready to receive visitors.”

“How is he?” asked Tim.

“Very weak … and not ready for any excitement …”

“I heard that,” came a protesting voice from the studio.

“Fortunately,” said Ducky blandly, “It does not appear that his hearing has been at all impaired by his experiences. This way, gentlemen.”

Gibbs and Tim followed Ducky into the sickroom where they found Tony slightly propped up on pillows. He was still pale but looked much better than when they had last seen him.

“You only look half-dead now,” said Gibbs.

“I’m sorry,” blurted out Tim.

Tony had taken Gibbs’ words in his stride, but he frowned at those of Tim, “What? Sorry that I only look _half-_dead?”

“No, not that. I’m sorry that I haven’t been calling you _Master_ Tony.”

Tony’s puzzled frown was, this time, directed towards Gibbs.

“Director Vance paid us a visit,” he explained.

“Ah, that makes more sense,” agreed Tony, “Hey, Tim, no worries. We’ll make a deal. I don’t call you _Pupil_ Tim – or not always, anyway – and you don’t call me Master Tony. Deal?”

“Are you sure?” asked Tim who had been brought up always to respect his elders and use the correct titles.

“Absolutely. Now, what did the good Director want?”

“He heard about your _problem_. He brought you something.”

“Present?” Tony’s eyes lit up.

Gibbs produced the pen. Tony looked bemused for a moment and then understanding dawned and he reached out a hand, “Hey, little guy. Haven’t seen you for a while.”

Gibbs sensed Tim’s puzzlement, “It’s from Director Vance’s office,” he explained, “Think he still remembers the day of your exam,” he said to Tony.

“Now, that was a fun day,” said Tony.

“Fun? You _enjoyed_ an exam?” asked Tim.

“Sure. I mean, I don’t enjoy _all_ exams but that one was fun. And I got to meet you guys,” he said to the pen in his hand.

“Tony,” said Ducky, “There was something about which I would value your elucidation … although it may be beyond your powers of recall …”

Tony blinked at this but said readily enough, “You know I’ll help if I can, Ducky.”

“You have spoken about _badgers_ while you were asleep … I must confess that I have struggled to understand why that particular creature was important to you. Although, on reflection, it may be that you were feeling _badgered_ following your ordeal. Are you able to throw any light on this particular subject?”

Tony blushed slightly and reached out to _The Wind in the Willows_ which was on his nightstand, “Well, have you read the book?” he asked.

“Might have read it with Kelly,” said Gibbs gruffly, “Don’t remember much about it. It wasn’t one of her favourites that we had to read twenty times.”

Ducky nodded sympathetically at this memory, “I too read it as a child, but I do not remember it in any great detail. I fear that my memory is more of the antics of Mr Toad. Timothy, have you read the book in question?”

Tim shook his head; he had always preferred non-fiction or detective stories to other types of story and _The Wind in the Willows _didn’t sound like something that would appeal to him.

“I liked it as a kid,” said Tony a little defiantly, “Anyway, it’s about the adventures of some small animals that live along a river … and sometimes they go visit the badger who lives in the middle of the Wild Wood …”

“And this badger was your favourite character?” suggested Ducky.

Tony frowned, “No, don’t think so. I kinda preferred Ratty. But Mr Badger is the go-to guy for animals in danger, he’s kind to children … he’s a bit shy and awkward and lives in this huge underground home. But, so long as he’s on their side, the animals know they’re safe with him. I guess he reminded me of someone …”

Gibbs found himself swallowing against an unexpected emotion, “It was good work getting that book to come here. Don’t reckon we’d have found you for a while.”

“Thanks for coming,” said Tony, “I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“Think it’s lunch time,” announced Gibbs standing up briskly. He paused and patted Tony on the shoulder. For a moment it looked as if he might say something more, but he simply nodded and left the room.

“Why don’t you keep Tony company for a while, Timothy,” said Ducky, feeling that Gibbs might need a moment or two alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that, even if you don’t know The Wind in the Willows, that you’ll get the gist of Mr Badger’s character … and the book comes highly recommended!
> 
> (For UK readers, a mechanical pencil is what we might call a propelling pencil).


	6. Chapter 6

“Sit down, Tim,” complained Tony when they were left alone, “Makes my neck ache to look up that far.”

Tim obeyed a little awkwardly and then wondered what a suitable topic of conversation with a recuperating Junior Master would be.

“I had scrambled eggs,” he declared after a pause.

“Great. Did you like them?”

“No, not really.”

“Huh.”

Silence fell again. Tony was not used to silence and resolved to break this one which felt awkward but, before he could speak, Tim blurted out,

“Why don’t you get called Master?”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought most people who were a Master would want to be called one.”

“Huh,” said Tony again, “Well, I guess if I did _magical_ work, I might use it. And when I get older, people tend to call people Master anyway.”

“Why don’t you do magical work? Master Jethro says you’re a sort of policeman.”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Why? I guess I like puzzles … and anyone who’s been taught by Master Jethro is probably going to end up doing some sort of public service.”

“Are they?”

“Sure?”

“How long have you been a policeman?”

“Since I left Ohio State, give or take a few months.”

“You went to Ohio State?”

“Yes.”

“The _real_ Ohio State?”

“Yes,” Tony paused, “Is there a fake one?”

“But Ohio State is a university, isn’t it?”

“Looked like one to me when I was there. But I guess I didn’t have anything to judge it by so I could have been mistaken.”

“But it’s for …”

“For what?”

“Well, normal people go there.”

“Excuse me? You saying I’m not normal?”

Tim gazed at Tony and privately thought that even without magic, it was unlikely that Tony would ever have been described as _normal_. “You know what I mean. It’s a place that people without magic go to.”

“So?”

“So, how does it work?”

“We’re all people, Tim. We just get along.”

“Hmm. What did you do there?”

Tony sighed reminiscently, “Oh, Pupil Tim, I had the time of my life!”

“But what did you study?”

“Oh. Studying. Well, I guess I did do some of that. I was a phys-ed major.”

“You were a jock?” Tim remembered back to an early impression of Tony being like the sport mad boys at his school.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing,” said Tony with mock hurt.

Tim wanted to deny the inference, but his innate truthfulness prevented him.

“I’ll have you know that there’s a lot of science-y thingies in phys-ed,” said Tony. Tim’s face softened a little in approval of this. “And a lot of playing sport,” grinned Tony, “Football and basketball. Running in the summer. Bit of baseball – not my favourite but it’s OK. Swimming, squash, tennis, softball. Do you like sports, Tim?”

“I’m not good at them. I had asthma when I was younger. I don’t have it now … but I get allergies. Being outside on all that grass brings them on.”

“That’s rough,” said Tony sympathetically, “But you could do gym – that’s indoors.”

Tim nodded with insincere interest, “What was your minor?”

“Or swimming,” said Tony who was now apparently engrossed in finding a suitable sporting interest for Tim, “Or does the chlorine irritate you?” Tim nodded. “You could try skiing – that’s in winter so there can’t be any pollen around. Or sailing?”

“I get seasick,” said Tim.

“Oh, that’s tough. I enjoyed my sports – made some good friends in the teams I was in.”

“How did that work?”

“I don’t know. I usually find I make friends with people I play sport with,” said a puzzled Tony.

“No, not the friends bit – I understand the principle. No, I mean, how were you able to play team sports?”

“’Cos I was good at them,” said Tony in continued bewilderment.

“But it can’t have been fair.”

“I know it’s not really fair that some people are good at sports and some aren’t – but that doesn’t mean nobody can play them.”

“That’s not what I meant. If you’ve got magic and you’re playing against people who don’t, isn’t that an unfair advantage?”

“Oh, I see. Yeah, that makes sense. Well, it works partly because we promise not to use our magic and partly because the places we play have something that suppresses the magic …”

“Like what they had where you were being held prisoner?”

Tony shuddered, “No, fortunately not like that. The sports device is more sophisticated and lighter touch … doesn’t make you feel sick afterwards. And besides, they have people there monitoring that nobody is using magic to get an edge.”

“Huh,” said Tim. He thought for a moment or two and then returned to a previous question, “And what was your minor?”

“Oh, it was magical studies. I’m doing a masters in emergence of magic in children and adolescents – it’s something I’m interested in.”

“You’re doing a masters?”

“Very slowly – I don’t have much spare time. But Fornell says it will be useful in helping me get promotion. Who’d have thought you need a masters to get ahead?”

Tim didn’t like to say that he thought most people would think a masters would come in handy.

“Ducky says I’ll have to take some time off to get back to strength. I might be able to catch up a bit on the academic work,” said Tony. He didn’t get a reply and, looking at Tim, he saw that he seemed to be lost in thought, “So, Tim … why lunar modules?”

“Excuse me?”

“Nora’s babies. What made you think of calling them after lunar modules?”

“I don’t know. I like reading about the moon landings. I made models of all of them. They’re in my bedroom back home. How come you know about them? Nobody else worked it out.”

Tony shrugged, “Don’t know … I had a book about the space programme when I was … before I came here. I used to read my books a lot.”

Tim felt there was something Tony wasn’t saying about _before he came here_ but Ducky and Gibbs came in that moment bearing lunch.

“Just something light and nourishing for you, my lad,” said Ducky to Tony.

“Calves foot jelly?” asked Tim mischievously.

Tony momentarily lost what little colour he had.

“I will have you know,” said Ducky sternly, “That it is a very tasty dish and used to be considered as a delicacy but, I fear, Tony will have to await another occasion to test the veracity of what I have said.”

“I will?” asked Tony hopefully.

“Yes. Peaseblossom Patricia sent some of her special chicken soup for you.

Tony reached out eager hands for the bowl of soup and managed not to feel disgruntled that his fellow diners were eating hotdog rolls. In the event, he flagged halfway through the bowl and Gibbs had to rescue it before he dropped it. Gibbs gently removed a pillow and Tony burrowed his way under the covers already nearly asleep. The others tiptoed out although Nora slid in with a kitten in her mouth before the door closed.

XXXXXX

Tony’s recovery continued apace, and he was soon joining Gibbs and Tim as they welcomed the day’s clients. Gibbs produced a comfy recliner for Tony and, for a few days, he had a tendency to doze off after lunch.

Fortunately for meals in the basement, the visitors finally stopped bringing food suitable for invalids and, after a week of rice puddings and strengthening broth, Gibbs and his companions were able once more to enjoy a more robust diet.

Tony was content either to watch Gibbs deal with the clients or, when he was feeling better, to sit at the worktable working on his masters with eager books clustering around him. He was curious, however, how Tim refused magically to clear the table at the end of each day’s work, and he was equally curious as to why Gibbs had, so far, failed to push him into doing so.

One day, Gibbs decided to take a rare afternoon off and, even more unusually, to go out. He gave Tony a knowing look as he left, and Tony understood that there was a hidden purpose behind the departure.

“Thanks, guys,” he said to the books, “Reckon I’m done for the day. You can go back now.”

The books hovered around Tony’s head for a while and then floated back to their places.

“Why do the books do that?” asked Tim.

Tony shrugged, “They just do. We’ve always got on. Hey Tim, can I ask _you_ a question?”

“OK,” said Tim cautiously.

“Why won’t you clear the table like Master Jethro wants?”

“I told you before. I can’t do magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. And you’re staying here to prove that you don’t have magic?”

“Yes. 100 days and then everyone will believe me.”

“Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you don’t have magic, why not try – and fail – to cast the spell? Then Master Jethro will know, and _he’ll _tell everyone you don’t have magic. And you won’t have to stay the whole 100 days.”

“I guess,” said Tim reluctantly.

“We could try later,” suggested Tony, “If you don’t want to try it with Master Jethro.”

Tim didn’t reply directly, “Do you _like_ having magic?”

“Huh … well, I guess so. I can’t imagine _not_ having it. It’s part of who I am.”

“It’s easy for you,” said Tim bitterly.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you’re good at everything …”

“Don’t think I’m so good at science …”

“But you’re good at everything you want to be. At everything _you_ think is important. You’re like the jocks at school, looking down on people who don’t want to do the same as you.”

“Tim! When I have looked down on you?”

Tim regretted his moment of temper, “You haven’t. I’m sorry … it’s just that …”

“You’re worried?”

Tim nodded.

“Tim, what are you worried about?” Tim shook his head and looked down at the table. “Tim, are you frightened that you might _have_ magic? Are you ashamed of it?”

Tim looked up at Tony with large eyes, “You wouldn’t understand … Dr Ducky told me about your examinations – how you got top marks. He said you were always naturally talented at controlling magic – _ability beyond your years_ he said.”

Tony gazed at Tim for a few moments before coming to a decision, “You want to know why the books like me?”

Tim nodded, sensing that Tony wasn’t changing the subject.

“It’s because, before I came here, I was lonely. My mom died when I was 8 … and after that I started having magic. But my family didn’t approve of magic … and mine wasn’t being controlled. Don’t forget I was only 8.”

“What did your folks do?”

“They shut me away. Oh, my dad made sure I was fed and clothed. I had a nice suite of rooms in his big house. But I didn’t see anyone apart from servants who brought me my food. They were scared of what I might do, and they were frightened of my father.”

“Oh.”

“And ‘cos I was lonely, I kinda made friends with what I had in the room. My books, my toys … well, you get the idea. And I didn’t realise at the time that I was _doing_ magic, but I was. And in other families, other places kids get training about how to control their powers early on. But I didn’t get that, so my magic has always been a bit … I don’t know _free spirited_, unusual. And there were times I used to hope that my magic would go away so that I could be a normal boy again – and that my dad would want to be with me.”

“What happened?”

“One of the servants – Nora, got fired. And she contacted the Magical Council and they intervened. Seer Morrow came to the house and didn’t give my dad any real choice. He either got charged with child cruelty and persecution of a magical minor or he let me go.”

“And he let you go?” said Tim almost in a whisper.

“I can still hear his sigh of relief when he agreed.”

“And what happened?”

“I came here. As Master Jethro’s apprentice – for 1000 days. The best 1000 days of my life. And I got to understand that having magic wasn’t a bad thing. Not something to be proud of – anymore than being proud of having blue eyes or being short. It’s just part of who I am and there’s no point trying to deny it.”

“How old were you when you came here?”

“Just shy of 15.”

“You were on your own for 7 years?” asked Tim in horror.

Tony shrugged, “It’s in the past now. I don’t think about it too much.”

“Is that why you’re doing your masters in magical development in children?”

“I guess. Master Jethro wonders whether the way I learned about my magic has some advantages. You know, should we allow kids more freedom to develop? It’s interesting.”

“My parents don’t know what to think … about me having magic,” said Tim.

“But they brought you here.”

“I’m a disappointment to them,” Tim burst out.

“Why do you think that?”

“I told you about the sports. Dad’s a natural athlete. He finds it hard to have a son who can’t catch a ball. And he’s in the Navy …”

“Yeah?”

“It’s a family tradition that McGees serve in the Navy …”

“But you get seasick …”

“Yes. And I like math and science …”

“The Navy uses math and science, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. But what if … what if …”

“What if what?”

“What if I was only good at math because I’ve got magic?”

“I’m not real good at math and I’ve got magic – don’t think the two have to go together, Tim.”

“No, what if I was using magic somehow to do the math?”

“You’re worried you’re not really a genius?” asked Tony trying not to smile.

“I know that sounds silly …”

“Tim, if – and it’s a big if – you’ve been using magic to do math … and if nobody’s spotted that … well, it might mean you’re not a math genius, but I figure it means you’re some other sort of genius.”

“You do?”

“I do,” said Tony firmly.

“But, if I do have magic … and I’m not saying I do, ‘cos I’m pretty sure I don’t …”

“Go on …”

“Well, there are ways of stopping it, aren’t there?”

“Stopping it? You mean stopping magic?”

“Yes!” Tim was suddenly excited, “You said they do it at sports matches … and that place you were held prisoner … they suppressed it …”

“You want your magic – if you have it – to be squashed in some way?”

“Yes! Why not? Then everything can go back to normal,” said Tim wistfully.

“Tim,” said Tony gently, “It doesn’t work like that. For one thing, it can only be suppressed for a short period. If I’d ever taken to playing cricket it wouldn’t work ‘cos the games can last 5 days!”

“Oh.”

“Not that cricket ever really appealed,” said Tony thoughtfully, “Although the one-day game was better … I had some arguments with Uncle Clive about that. He’s a real purist when it comes to cricket … Ducky agrees with him,” Tony saw Tim’s bewildered expression and hurried on, “Not that that matters now. No, what matters is that suppression of magical powers isn’t feasible, Tim. You saw what it did to me after a few days … and nobody’s found a _pleasant_ way of making it work. It’s dangerous, Tim. Believe me, if you’ve got magic … well, you’re kinda stuck with it.”

“Huh. Then what do you think I should do?”

“I think you need to talk to Master Jethro. And I think you need to find out for sure if you’ve got magic. ‘Cos this isn’t going to go away. And if you’ve got magic, you need to find out, so you know what your options are.”

“I guess. Do you think, if I do have magic, that the books will go crazy for me too?”

“They might do. The first thing I did was try to make friends with them – I think that the magic came easier because of that. And Ducky reckons that all people with magic have particular areas of skill – mine is in animation.”

“I thought that was cartoons,” said Tim sceptically.

Tony stiffened slightly, “There’s nothing wrong with cartoons,” he said, “But animation in magical terms is something different. It means that objects engage with the animator – sometimes in unpredictable ways,” he added as a book suddenly launched itself towards his head, “Huh! So you think it’s playtime, do you?” he said as other books came to join in an impromptu game of tag.

XXXXXX

Gibbs came back later that day to find his current pupil and former apprentice sitting exhausted around the table with books strewn around.

“What happened here?” he demanded.

“Oops, sorry, Master,” said Tony, “We were playing tag and things got a bit lively,” he waved a hand, there was a popping sound and the basement was restored to order.

“That’s better,” said Gibbs, “Huh, see Nora’s back to her old ways,” he gestured towards Tony’s neck where the cat lay draped.

Tony reached up a hand to smooth her, “The kittens were getting rambunctious, so she left Jasper in charge. Except for this little cutie,” he drew a small, fluffy grey kitten from his shirt pocket, “You’re a good little boy, aren’t you, Smudge.” Smudge ignored him and went back to sleep. “Huh,” said Tony, “I think I’ll go and lie down. Been a long day …”

“And you might as well do what Ducky tells you at least once,” said Gibbs drily.

“Think Tim wants a word with you, Master Jethro,” said Tony as he walked away slightly hunched from the weight of Nora around his neck. He turned when he reached the studio door, “Tim, I reckon your parents will still be proud of you so long as you just do everything the best you can … I think that’s what a Navy man would want – for his son to be the best he can be. Yeah?”

Tim nodded uncertainly.

“Tim?” asked Gibbs.

“M-Master Jethro, I think it’s time I found out if I have magic or not.”

“Fair enough. No time like the present. Get the Immediate Inventory Illumination Spell book … we’ll check whether Tony cleared up properly.” He grinned as Tim went to retrieve the book: he was fairly sure that Tony would have made sure to spill something.

XXXXXX

“Wow,” said Tony sometime later as he surveyed the chaos in the basement.

“_Wow_ about sums it up,” agreed Gibbs morosely.

“Tim in his room?”

“Yep. He’s worn out.”

“I’m not surprised. I’m guessing this means that he’s got magic?”

“Did you doubt it?”

“No more than you did. I mean, sensing magic in other people isn’t one of my particular skills but he was off the scale.”

“Yep. Clue was in the scale of that car accident. Had to be something powerful to cause that much damage to the car. He could hear the books although he pretended not to … and he sensed when your fever broke, and they got excited.”

“And I’m guessing he hasn’t got any better at controlling the magic?” asked Tony as he looked at the soot and scorch marks on the table and ceiling, “And is that water I see?” he asked, pointing to the wall.

“Yep, he managed to burst a pipe.”

“Want me to clear up?”

“Yes. But do it quietly – I’ve got a headache coming on.”

“How many times did he run the spell?”

“Four. I tried to stop him after the first two but he’s stubborn. Insisted he’d keep going.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t run the Revelatory Redaction?”

Gibbs winced, “Didn’t want him to know how much he’d missed … and how much he’d spilled of his own!”

Tony grinned and waved his hands, considerately squashing the usual popping sound.

“And what’s _Pupil _Tim doing now?”

“He wanted to write a letter to his folks.”

“Telling them that he has got magic?”

“Yeah. And saying he wants to stop being my pupil …”

“Oh, didn’t see that coming.”

“’Cos he wants to become my apprentice.”

Tony laughed at the rueful but proud look on Gibbs’ face, “Congratulations, Jethro. Looks like you’ve got an apprentice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done at last! Thank you to everyone who has come along on this more than slightly crazy ride. The characters still don’t belong to me and are back in their creators’ box.


End file.
